


Older Than The Moon

by Serenade



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Extra Treat, Family Bonding, Gen, Moon-letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 22:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16438277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenade/pseuds/Serenade
Summary: Elrond asks Maedhros about moon-letters.





	Older Than The Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flora_Legium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flora_Legium/gifts).



Elrond woke up in the middle of the night. The moon shone bright through the tower window. Elros stirred in the bed opposite his, but he settled again into slumber.

Elrond slipped out of bed. Something had roused him, some intuition he had learned to trust, but whose source he could not name. He padded out the door into the dim passageway. The old fortress had many winding ways, but he had grown to know them all, enough to find his way in the dark. The flagstones themselves were worn into familiar paths.

A sliver of light spilled from behind Maedhros's door. It stood ajar. Elrond knocked softly. There was a grunt of acknowledgment, which he took as assent. He stepped inside.

Maedhros sat at the desk facing the window. Moonlight fell over him, weaving silver strands into his red hair. He had lit no lamps or candles, and the fire was down to embers. Without turning around, he said, "You should be asleep."

It wasn't quite a dismissal. More an observation, like they were companions marking the late hour.

"What are you doing?" Elrond asked. He hoped Maedhros was in the mood to answer questions. He was better at straight answers than Maglor, who turned everything into a song and a riddle, and expected them to figure it out. Maedhros had no time for that.

"Writing a letter."

Elrond came closer. Maedhros was bent over a sheet of paper, his good hand moving steadily over it, drawing runes across its surface. He could wield a pen as skilfully as a sword. This one was a silver pen with silver ink. As soon as they were made, the runes sank into the paper and faded to a glimmering outline. Elrond stared at them in awe.

"Moon-letters," Maedhros said, in answer to the unspoken question. "Made with ithildin. Invisible except under the light of the moon. A good way to preserve secrets."

"Did your father create them?" Elrond knew Fëanor had devised the letters used by all the Elves. They still referred to those letters by his name, however much they might otherwise curse his memory.

"No. The Dwarves invented these. He would have liked them though. He loved languages. He taught me my letters." Maedhros sighed. "The moon was not yet made, when my father stopped creating anything new."

"He was older than the moon?" Elrond said, astonished, before he caught himself. Of course. The Elves at Cuiviénin had woken under the stars.

Maedhros gave one of his rare crooked smiles. "Child, I am older than the moon. Did you think it always existed?"

Elrond had wondered. "Who made the moon?"

"The moon is the last flower of Telperion. It holds a memory of its vanished light."

Maedhros had seen that light. Elrond never would. He looked up through the window, at the star they called Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope. It gave him a strange ache to look upon. They said it was a Silmaril. It too held the light of the Trees. So maybe it was a brother to the moon. Or at least a close cousin. He found he liked the idea. The night sky was so vast, and this made it a little less lonely.

"I want to learn the moon-letters," Elrond said, emboldened. "Will you teach me?"

Maedhros was gazing out the window too, at the star and the moon in the sky together. He looked at Elrond for several long moments. Then he said, with a faint smile, "Pull up a chair."


End file.
